Danger Days: Mind Poison
by runawaylikeitwasyesterday
Summary: MCR A BL/i agent who has been pushed too far unknowingly gets a programed data chip inserted into her brain by the dust angels, giving her the uncontrollable need to rescue the killjoys. The line between good and evil is blurred.
1. Chapter 1: The Sharpest Lives

Hey everyone. My other stories are all on hiatus right now because I hate every last one of them. Just being blunt. I wanted to do something more original and for the first time ever, I really love what I've written. If you would like to read more, please review.

**CHAPTER ONE: THE SHARPEST LIVES**

The desert was considered the place of the unclean. The gangs, the rascals, the killjoys. Unless you were highly trained you wouldn't be able to tell now, though, what with the tear drops of sunset glittering different shades across the sparkling sands and oasis. It was one long winding road to battery city, and only with a sharp eye could you spot the shack across the border of zone 6.

The shack changed locations many times for me. The only way I could find it was if I squinted through a pair of Infrared goggles and spotted the difference in heat from the sand and the tin roof. If I couldn't find it before the sun went down, all was lost and I was considered a failure. But that had only happened a few times before; the real unsettling part was where I had to complete the last part of the mission.

I kicked the sand carelessly with my blue doc martins and flipped the United States flag-printed hood over my head, securing that the wiring protruding from my left ear was safely hidden. With the right kind of swagger I would blend right in with the rest of the desert scum, speaking of which, were only approximately a few feet in front of me.

Two male killjoys, one with bright pink swooping hair and knee high silver boots, a bubble vest slightly covering the slit sleeves of his shirt. The other, displaying a lime green mowhawk, leaned against the shack, which was vibrating slightly as the noise within it bounced and echoed inside, protruding through the cracks of the tightly shut door. He flipped a ray gun lazily in one hand and took a drag of a cigarette in the other. The smoke floated into the air reflecting the colors of the sky, turning into a dark purple as its smell mixing in with the musk and the flaming temperature smell of the zone.

The pink haired one noticed me first, sluggishly looking behind him and doing a quick double take, an obnoxious grin quickly spreading across his face. The green haired one simply smirked and tossed the cigarette in front of me. Playing along I leaned down and picked it up, and as the pink haired killjoy leaned over to check out the shorts I had on I snapped up to find the paper still lit. I took a drag of the tobacco and puffed a circle out, raising my eyes at the boys.

Pink crossed his arms, clanking the metal bracelets he had on and whistled. "Comin to see the show, aren't yeah, babydoll?" He laughed out loud before Green could slap him across the face with the hilt of his gun, causing Pink's nose to bleed.

My eyes narrowed at this display of violence as Green noticed me and smiled apologetically, but his eyes told me otherwise.

"Sorry Miss." He drawled, flipping his hair and walking towards me. "Catch here doesn't know how to treat a lady. But I'm Throttle, and I would most definitely love to assist to your needs."

Throttle came up and grabbed my hand with what I'm sure he considered compassion, but it felt more like force, and he kissed it. My blood boiled in disgust but the rise of pink in my cheeks was only taken as a blush by Throttle as he became cockier and brushed my hair out of the way.

My skin crawled and my heartbeat was nauseatingly unstable, the pulse completely clashing with the stomping sounds of the crowd inside the shack jumping to the rhythm of the music being played. Using the sudden dizziness I leaned against Throttle a bit to hold myself steady as I blinked my eyes viciously and said, " Your buddy had it right. I've just got to see the show."

Catch cackled in response and strode over to trace my spine with his fingertips, feeling the bumpy bone against the thin fabric of my top. "Told you, Throttle, I told you!"

Throttle rolled his eyes in response and led me to the door. "Of COURSE you could come in, lil lady. Only, we aint supposed to let no more visitors in the floor. But now now, don't you fret, because we have plenty of room backstage."

Annddd presto. Part one of the mission done.

I grinned up, my eyes shining with excitement. "Backstage?" I squealed, "So I could, like, meet the band?"

"Only the best for the cutest Miss in the zone. But unfortunately we're gonna have to see a bit more of the Miss, purely for incentive to let you in, so why don't you just lift up that lil shirt you've got on for a few moments so we can all be happy?"

Despite catch howling into another fit of laughter, the atmosphere changed immediately. My eyes narrowed and I sucked in a ball of spit, launching it at Throttle's face, screaming "FUCK YOU!"

As I expected they were unreasonably prepared. As Throttle howled in rage, Catch grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall, a cloud of dust puffing into the air from the impact. I turned my face away and winced at the bolt of pain and he took the opportunity to whisper menacingly into my ear, "That's how you want to play, huh?"

"It's fucking Party Poison!" Throttle spat on the ground, wiping his face off as he stormed over to me. His fake southern drawl had completely disappeared; he was through with trying to be a charmer. "He told all the fucking girls to do that if any fucking guy asked a chick to show her tits. Should have known, that's who's playing tonight anyways…" He held his gun in the same hand he grabbed my cheek with, the metal just as sweaty as his palms. With his other hand he reached into his pocket and grabbed a small dusty card, one with the Better Living Industries logo crossed out with some duct tape. "You want your friggin backstage pass? Lift up your damn shirt and give me some kissing action mixed in there. And I want you to go tell Party Poison and his gang that spitting in a man's face don't work."

And he made the fatal mistake of pulling me to his face and smothering me, breaking only to point to my chest.

I reached down, pulled out a hidden ray gun and shot them both dead, the smell of their burnt tissue in the air.


	2. Chapter 2: House of Wolves

**CHAPTER TWO: HOUSE OF WOLVES**

"Name?"

"Stagger Shock." I replied to the bodyguard, passing over the vandalized BL card as the backstage pass.

Every time this happened there was only a 20% chance that I would be able to pass through in time without the doormen noticing the dead killjoys outside. Timing was difficult; I had to get in before the set list ended so I could approach the band backstage. Sometimes I didn't even have time to hide the bodies. If only it weren't so crucial to kill them, but the mission set up was designed so that there was no excuse for me to not destroy as many of the desert scum as possible without being noticed. The one time I did try and evade killing the killjoys out front by acquiescingly complying with their request turned out… torturous.

Another reason to hate them.

The guard lifted the rope and I passed through, picking up speed as I heard the familiar notes of the last song ending.

What if I actually did it this time?

They would let me go fulfill the actual mission instead of this fantasy in front of me. Just to be able to get it all over with, just complete the damn thing I had been working so hard for, pushed for, suffered for! I wasn't even sure if they would let me leave, but at least I would gain trust and be able to be programmed into a different digital world. Any change of scenery would be warmly accepted.

I jerked my thoughts away from Battery City and focused as my battle senses kicked in. I bolted the door with a broomstick and pushed an old couch against hit, hoping it would hold it back at least temporarily if they were to knock the rusty old hinges out of the wood. I walked around the backstage area and checked out my surroundings. The floors were covered in sand and the air conditioning clearly broken. The air was dusty and it hurt to blink, but I looked around the poster-covered walls and navigated myself to the stage entrance. There was one crewmember having a smoke and I disposed of him easily, my ray gun barely making a sound over the encore of the drums only a few feet away. If only I could make the execution public and get away with it. I had done that before and the adrenaline rush was priceless, but 50 killjoy fan girls was the last thing I needed chasing me.

But now, now I just had to wait. Getting ready to hide behind the curtains, I slowly raised my ray gun…

"Drop it."

No. No, no no. Not again.

I froze up and winced, the voice behind me grabbing my wrist and twisting it around so the ray gun slipped from my fingers and I fell to my knees in pain. I whirled around and kicked my boots up only to be caught by another killjoy. I couldn't even see anything before they threw me into the rusty metal walls and I screamed and rolled over on the ground to face 4 guns pointed at me.

Party Poison. Kobra Kid. Fun Ghoul. Jet Star.

Ghoul ripped the flag stamped hood off my head and grabbed the wiring, pulling me up by the filaments attached to my skull and I cried out in agony; Kobra spat on my face in disgust.

I raised myself on to my knees to ease the pain of being dragged by the chords and was met with a kick to the stomach. "I'm weaponless. What do you want?" I whimpered, panting at the impact the army boot left in my gut.

Party Poison lowered himself slowly to eye level and I tried to look away, fear bubbling in the pit of my stomach, but he grabbed my chin and I looked him dead on, only an inch away.

"Who do you work for?" he whispered.

I laughed out loud. "Who does EVERYONE work for? Except for you, of course, the fucking garbage of the zones…"

He slapped me so hard that Fun Ghoul lost his grip on the wiring and I slipped back, hitting my head on the edge of an old coffee table.

"Why would you even try to take them down?" I yelled, blood running down the side of my face. "They're just trying to make sure everyone's happy. Happiness is easy and obtainable. It's people like you who ruin it, who want pain, who inflict pain…"

"One more word and you're dead," whispered Jet Star.

I grinned up at him, feeling the too familiar dizziness start to overtake me. "The aftermath is secondary."

He shot.

And then it all went black.

I was ripped out of my pod by the hair before I even regained consciousness and awoke to the profanities being screamed at me by the Scarecrow Director as she held me against the wall.

"6 months you've had to complete the mission, 6 months, that's all Korse gave you, that's all you were meant to do, that's what you've been PROGRAMED to do. You're hopeless, the killjoys are murdering your comrades and all you could do is sit around and be lazy and disgusting…"

I turned sharply and threw a punch at her, trying to break her chokehold so I could breathe and I fell to the floor panting, reaching up to tuck the dangling chords behind my ear and tapping lightly at the skin that had been temporarily stretched when I was ripped out.

It had been nearly 200 days since I was first hooked up to the computer pod and put into the virtual desert, told to practice the mission I was assigned: The extermination of four killjoys.

I was in the shooting range when it happened.

The Concrete buildings of battery city were still cool from the chilly night though they reflected the pinks and oranges of the desert sunrise. The streets were lined with shadows and the BL industry guards who had previously patrolled the alleys were getting ready to switch shifts. That was the time to do it.

I sprinted alongside the shadows praying that my white uniform wouldn't floorless against the darkness and dashed behind the BL vending machine. Peering around I checked to make sure there weren't any S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units out and proceeded to take off my gloves and examine the machine, hoping it would be similar to hacking a computer.

Even though it meant I had the lower hand in combat, being slender meant I could wiggle in and out of places others couldn't (I blamed malnourishment and over exercising). I squirmed between the concrete wall and the machine and rattled my fingers across the metal, digging my fingertips underneath a small crack and opening a latch to reveal a small sd card.

I laughed out loud for a moment, covering my mouth to prevent any suspicion. And they wondered why the Killjoys never ran out of supplies. Anyone could use a memory card of the sort and insert it in a basic hacking device and manipulate the machine. Being a hacker myself I always kept one inserted in he pocket of my boot.

As I hacked the machine I wondered why they didn't upgrade the technology. It would be extremely simple, yet they were too busy trying to improve their army or draculoids. I wasn't old enough for the surgeries yet, but there were ghosts of rumors and gossip among the camps about the complete failures of their human experiments, the lost souls. The first to go were the people who were given up at birth, like myself, and had no other place to go. That's why draculoids wore the terrifying masks, speaking of which, if I wanted to get in to the shooting range without being recognized as a minor I would need one of those too.

10 minutes later I collected the new ray gun and mask, feeling relief that I wouldn't have to snoop around anymore and entered the range Despite being underage I found comfort in the various power I had with the gun in my hand, comfort in the fact that the looming red circle we used as targets were singed with every shot.

A small crowd had begun to gather in response to my handiwork with the gun, their oversized masks drooping while they nodded in appreciation of their talented comrade. I enjoyed the attention until out of the corner of my eye I noticed a woman watching. She was of Asian decent and wore a grey pencil skirt and a matching blazer, her eyes glued on me as if I were her prey. Trying to ignore her I had simply continued practicing, but by the time I had put the pieces together and realized that she was the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units director it was too late and she scanned by ID.

Draculoid AK4797.

Sex: F

15 years old.

Height at 5'8.

Hair: Black

Eye Color: Green

Skills: Hand to hand combat, fencing, knife throwing, archery, long distance running, computer hacking, firearms training.

All of those qualities were exactly what they were looking for. It's not that much if you just look at it, but let me explain.

I was nameless. My parents gave me to the officials the minute the pulled over from Route Gueno to take the secret pills to everlasting happiness. They were through with each other and I was the last thing they wanted. I didn't have a name, so I was given a number instead.

I was young, but I was old enough to handle the stress of the missions. Younger people, especially girls, were picked out for special missions often because of their innocent look.

As for my skills? Most of the Dracs have one specialty. For someone who's been in Battery City under training since birth, well, it's a bit different.

So that's how I found myself being dragged to the district by the Director. She pulled me along by my hair as I cried, terrified of what punishment I would receive from prematurely going to the range. My head was forced down and I stumbled across the unfamiliar streets, all completely white, blending in with the walls and giving no fair warning to where I was being turned to. After 10 terrifying minutes of walking a wall opened and I was pushed into a room the color of an unfriendly shade of grey.

I rolled over on the ground and groaned as I stretched out the misery that was my neck.

"You're going to have to be a little tougher than that if you want to make it out of this one, sweetheart."

I rolled over, falling back dizzily as I tried to locate the deep voice. A middle aged man with rolling muscles sat in the corner, raising his eyebrows dryly as if I were some sort of unexpected disgrace before him.

"What am I doing here?" I asked, ignoring his remark and attempting to get to the point. "And who are you?"

The man stood up and walked slowly over to me, his hands clenched before him. "I'm Cherri Cola, the commander of the extermination unit." He drawled. "And you're Stagger Shock, my fresh meat."

Hoorah. I decided I ought to do the whole review-sharing thing. Review my story and I review yours. Even if it's scathing and you tell me it's total shit (trust me, I get that enough and I'm really not all that bothered by it. And it helps sometimes!)

And also? I'd like to point out that unfortunately I'm a shamefully recent MCR fan. PLEASE point out any errors in the storyline.


	3. Chapter 3: This Mirror isn't big enough

**Chapter 3: Honey this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us**

My thoughts of the past rushed back into the present, accompanied with a hurling scream from the shaking director.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I screamed repetitively, praying the words sounded sincere as they drained any honesty I had left in myself. I mustered up the words over and over again, "I'm sorry, please…"

"No." she hissed, bending down over me. "I hand picked you months ago, I knew what I was doing! You've got the potential and yet I've seen lab rats push themselves more than you have; you're insane if you think Korse will…"

"Isn't that what I am? A lab rat?" I yelled back, completely exasperated. "And I've never even met Korse, if he even cared all that much he would at least stop by and give some input once and a while, so I honestly think you're fucking yourself over if you think you're so high and mighty."

Her reaction was absolutely immediate, her thin eyes contracting into slits as she shook in absolute rage. "How dare you even think…"

Just as her hands crept around my throat for a second time there was a knock at the door and we both turned our heads, jumping at the sudden interruption of Cherri Cola leaning through the sliding glass door.

"I reckon," he said, "that unless you get your claws off my agent you're going to have some real explaining to do to Korse if he sees any more bruises on her pretty little neck." He flipped his shades down and ambled over to the corner we occupied until he was inches away from the director's face. "Surely you would think that the head of BL industries would want the very best for our champion."

The director leapt back and straightened herself up, readjusting her wrinkled blazer and smoothing out her hair. "Champion? Commander, you do realize that after the sixth month time slot this experiment has failed to complete her-"

"I really don't care what my agent here has done to upset you, but I can clear it up with Korse later. As for now, I need to escort the lady to a meeting." Cherri turned and strode out the door, his BL combat boots thudding against the floor. "Stagger, come this way."

Cherri snapped his fingers and, to the director's rage, I flitted to his side. He walked towards the north training grounds and I followed him, only stopping to run back and stick my tongue out at the sullen Scarecrow.

"You're such a child." Cherri muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Cherri, Cherri, I failed the mission." I whispered, a new frantic tone in my voice. "What are we supposed to do? I'm old enough to get the drac surgery now, what if they just fire everybody and remove the project?"

"Stagger, sugar trust me, everything will be okay."

I looked up at him, absolutely bewildered by his evasive answer. He caught my eye and winked, jerking his head towards the roof, his black hair whipping across his face.

I tilted my head up, looking at the crystalline ceiling until I noticed large panels of recording equipment newly embedded into the edges of the clean white passage way. I raised my eyebrows at Cherri and he sighed.

"We'll talk once we get someplace more quiet. As in, your dressing room."

He abruptly stopped in front of a simple door, a clone of thousands in battery city, and opened it up. I was nearly blinded with what was inside.

"What the fuck is all this color shit?" I grimaced, running my hands through layers of neon, plasticy clothes. This was the most amount color I'd ever seen in my life, including the virtual killjoy parties, which is really saying something. Fake leathers that made squishy sounds when rubbed together, puffy vests, skinny jeans doused in glitter. It made me want to hurl.

"I told you already," griped Cherri, "this is your dressing room. We need you to look fully presentable as a killjoy today when you meet Korse, especially since I hear you failed the missions."

"What the hell is wearing glitter going to do to make-" I stopped, seeing the look on Cherri's face. It was one he used many times before, a look that was as stern as the director on a bad day.

He grabbed a few items and lumbered over to me, placing them in my hands and pointing me in the direction of a violet-curtained dressing room. "Change first. Then ask the questions."

I marched into the dressing room and pulled on the clothes without even looking at them. "Cherri, why are you making me dress up like a zone rat?"

"I told you, questions later."

"Well what are you going to do," I grunted, jumping around as I attempted to put on a pair of skinny jeans, "come in here and tell me to shut up? "

Cherri sighed and I heard the familiar sound of him hitting his head against the wall.

"Okay, here's the deal. We have a meeting with Korse in 2 hours. By the time we get there the director will have informed him about your incompetence in the training program. What we need to do is put on a convincing show. You need to look like a Killjoy, but you have GOT to make sure that you make it well known that you know your place in the industries. I'll talk about how I made the stimulation harder than it ought to be and how it was actually unfair to you, you get more time for the machine, and it will all work out okay."

By the time he had finished talking I was working on my lace up boots, completely losing my balance and falling through the curtain.

"Ow…" I muttered, rolling over and getting up to face my reflection in the mirror.

Cherri had given me green glittery hair clips that popped out against my jet-black hair and a black camisole that had been given a rough, worn feel. My motor jacket had the fake leathery fabric that was a waxed up pink color with an embossed pre-fire wars American flag on the chest. My skinny jeans were white and had yellow studs across the sides and my combat boots were a shade of purple so dark it could be easily mistaken as black. To top everything off, I had a pair of hot pink gloves and a yellow bandana to tie around my neck in case of the occasional desert sandstorm.

In short, I looked completely disgusting.

"Can I go throw up?" I asked Cherri wearily.

"Here." He said, taking off his prized sunglasses and fixing them on me. "Hide your face in shame."

"See?" I pointed to the sunglasses. "It's touching little moments like this where I remember that you actually don't hate me."

"Scuse me, then," he said as he snatched his sunglasses away, "I'm sure you'll look just as cute in some nice shutter shades."

He laughed out loud as I gagged at the thought and I looked in the mirror again. A year ago I was just some Drac in training, scared shitless of the rumored surgeries that could tear out a Draculoid's soul. Now I was in a shitty costume with a different kind of shitty surgery doing a shitty job, but at least I was alive and in one piece.

"Cherri. You used to be a killjoy. Why didn't they operate on you?"

"Stagger, you know I can't talk much about the operations they do on those dracs from your camp. But they don't usually operate on people who volunteer willingly; it's kids like you used to be who are the disposable ones. By switching sides I'm as loyal as they come, there aint no reason to make me some mindless robot."

He had said too much. Mindless robot? Was the gossip true, then? Did they take away people's free will, their souls?

I hurried along to ask another question, hoping I would convince Cherri that I hadn't noticed his slip. "How do you feel about creating the program that will kill them?" I whispered.

"They're good guys." He said simply. "Just don't know what's good for them. Why all the questions?"

'Why all the answers?" I shot back.

Cherri wasn't ever evasive, but he was hell bent on keeping a lot of things regarding the killjoys secret. We both stared at each other in the mirror in silence. We knew we were both thinking about the possible failure of getting the funds back for the extermination unit, the possibility of being removed.

"What's going to happen to me if they…" I trailed off.

"Sugar," Cherri said, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me in, "You're the best chance they've got to kill any killjoy. Even if they replace the stimulation program, they'll still need you around."

"What about you?" I whispered.

Cherri squinted his brown eyes and patted me on the shoulder, gesturing towards the looking glass in front of us. "We're a team for now. But one day, honey, this mirror isn't going to be big enough for the two of us. It's going to take some time to get to headquarters, we ought to go."

We left the dressing room and I wondered if I was every going to see it again, ever wear my white uniform again. My life was on the line, and this time it wasn't virtual. It was real.

Meh. Not my favorite chapter, but the next one is already planned out and it's fabulous. Quick question to anyone interested in answering, would you rather have 2 shorter chapters (one of which will be rather uneventful and the next being action crazy) or would you rather have a longer chapter?

Thanks for reading. Reviews are nice and I'll review you back, but just taking to the time to read is awesome.


	4. Chapter 4: The Kids From Yesterday

Alright. Well, I haven't updated in a while. I'm basically not going to even bother apologizing because hey. It's a fanfiction. If you actually care so much about this that you want an apology than I'll be sure to get back to you. I basically had a crazy couple of weeks, erm, months that included MCR Concerts missing concerts, meeting Mike Dirnt at a show (I fail so hard, I didn't recognize him at first but we had a fabulous conversation about music) running the Paramore website and just a lot of music stuff okay? Yeah. But it's summer so I ought to be writing more. I really hope you all review :3

MCRMCRMCRMCRMCR

The walls of the conference unit were pale grey brick lined with a similar shade of concrete. There were no drafts in the room because there were no windows, vents, or heating systems. It was doubly lined with a high tech soundproof system. It had one ceiling light, one metal table, and a dozen chairs that were unoccupied. That is, except for the director and the chief exterminator.

Korse took the head of the table, his dull grey clothes further muted by the insipid surroundings. He slightly swiveled in his chair and raised one long, ringed finger out to the director, not particularly looking at her at all. "You say the agent failed the mission?"

He spoke aloud in a slow, lingering way, his voice carrying a lofty tone. The director didn't move, her body inanimate as she looked forward and answered with one simple word: Yes.

The last thing the director expected was a slow smile from the chief exterminator. Had she not just told him that their greatest experiment, the inner internet, failed them?

Korse seemed to read her mind as the director's immobile demeanor failed her, the slightest gasp giving her away. "Luckily enough," he said, his smile increasing, "We have the means for the killjoys to come to us."

MCRMCRMCRMCRMCR

I had never felt more out of place in my entire life.

The dim walls of the high security conference room seemed to magnify the sickening brightness of the clothes I had on. I missed my plain white uniform and briefly wondered if this is what Killjoys on trial felt like. I say trial because I was at the end of a large metal conference table facing the one person who held all the power of BL/ind. The Exterminator.

He flipped through papers and files with a lazy grace, halfway between bored and interested if that was even possible. I was as still as a rock, my eyes nervously flitting around at the dracs around me as Korse stayed silent.

Even for someone who had grown up in Battery City their whole life, dracs were something that could cause serious anxiety. I looked around everywhere and saw clones. These people… or not people, really. Empty headed beings walking around and being directed with no way of rebellion. But today was different. The dracs around the table didn't have their masks on, and I could easily see that something was truly wrong.

Scars covered their faces, mangles and twisted. It was horrendous. Stitches lined their skulls and recent incisions left small scars across their foreheads. I glanced at Cherri, who was on the other side of the table, and he simply bit his lip and averted his eyes. I envied him, I just couldn't look away. But then again, it was just that weakness that let me notice something.

While their faces were shriveled and distorted, something seemed to connect the draculoids that I couldn't exactly put my finger on. It was almost robotic, the way some of them would sigh at the same time or blink rapidly in union. I was completely stunned, mouth gaping open when I realized it… their scars corresponded with the way they were acting.

I couldn't mask my horror as I leaned in, looking at the oblivious humans around me. Those with an oval cut over their left eye moved their right-handed pinky at the same time. The ones with a 15-degree dent just outside the curve of their right ears blinked at the same pace. But how was this happening, what was happening… what technology could possible make this occur? Depending on where the cuts were it was as if there was a different kind of enforced mind contr-

Korse slammed the files on the metal table and the legs shook, sending ringing metallic vibrations through the conference room as everyone swiftly sat up and looked to Korse with interest. Korse himself was still casually slumped down, his forehead tilted down and his eyes flickering up at me in a cold, hard stare.

I shut my mouth, internally beating myself over losing my fearless conduct. I straightened myself and lifted my chin, tilting my head towards the Exterminator but looking down. You don't look a predator in the eye.

"AK4797. Is that your name?"

Those were the first words I heard the exterminator speak. He had a low, growling kind of voice. It was overplayed to be more intimidating, but still terrifying. I cleared my throat.

"That is my identity, Exterminator."

"Call me Korse."

I lifted my eyes suddenly to look at him in the eye. Call him by his name, not his title? Was this good news, perhaps he was fond of me? Or was he testing me? The director fidgeted as if the idea of me even uttering the sound the first letter of his caused her great physical pain, which was, of course, the perfect reason to do it.

"Korse." I repeated. "My ID is AK4797, my codename is Stagger Shock."

"And how did you get here, Stagger Shock?"

Ha. How I got here. Well that went back to the day I had met Cherri for the first time…

"Stagger Shock? I don't understand."

"It's your name, kid." Cherri spoke as if he slung his words around a loop. He had a certain slang that emphasized random syllables and was heavy on sarcasm; I had never heard that dialect before in my life.

"I don't have a name." I told him stubbornly, dusting off my white suit, glaring at the dust left on it from creeping behind vending machines and being thrown on the floor.

Cherri flashed a mocking grin. "Well now you do. We can't move on much further if we're not on first name basics. You're Stagger, I'm Cherri. Unless a S/C/A/R/C/R/O/W unit worker is around, then you call me Commander."

"Commander of what?" I pushed.

"The inner internet data human experiment." Cherri stated. I was surprised at how easily I was able to gain answers from him, for so long I wasn't allowed any information on anything. He seemed to read my mind as he continued. "You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all of this stuff. Well, sugar, you're going to need to know it. You're not some abandoned draculoid in training anymore. You're an agent. And you've got one hell of a mission in front of you."

I attempted to interrupt him with an angry retort, declining any agent business whatsoever but he covered my moth with his leather gloved hand and looked down at me through a pair of sunglasses that had hidden his face from me for the entire conversation. "You will not interrupt me while I'm talking. This is important to you, it doesn't mean a single thing to me whether you make it out of this alive or not. You are going to go into that room," he pointed to a grey lined door in the corner opposite from where I entered, "And you are going to prep for surgery.

"This surgery is going to make it so that you can be programmed into a virtual world, not unlike most inner internet shenanigans that goes on around BL/I, but you're getting something different. You're going to be programmed to complete your mission. And you're going to have data chips that save every scenario to your memory; unlike the usual inner internet you're getting long-term recollection. You're getting a tiny, nearly invisible micro antenna to receive radio waves for further on in the mission when you need to communicate to headquarters. And you're getting wires that will slightly intrude outside the skin of your left ear, those wires being the ones that will plug you into the computer system. There will be 2, one controlling each side of your brain so that you will feel everything that you will experience inside a virtual mission, again, unlike that of basic inner internet. This is highly advanced. This is high-level technology. You will be the first it has ever been tested on. And the only reason why I'm telling you all of this now instead of after the surgery is because there is a good chance you will die."

He let go of my mouth, ripping his hands away and I toppled to the ground again in shock. He rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed.

I struggled to get up with my body shaking so wildly. I immediately ran to the door I came from banging and scraping on the frame, begging for help, from someone, anyone. This was a death sentence? I shouted but the room was clearly soundproof, my screams and scrapings at the door were unheard and I crumbled to the floor, turning and looking at Cherri, who hadn't moved throughout my episode.

"I don't want to die." I gasped. "Please, oh god, just please. Why, why me, I just snuck into a shooting range, why this… this punishment…"

Cherri had the nerve to smirk at me. "Punishment? You were chosen for this for your capabilities. For your shooting, your self defense."

"How will that relate to what I'll be doing in this inner internet thing?" I asked, wildly thinking of other questions to prolong by stay in this plain white room.

"Because," Cherri said, walking over to me and looking down towards me, curled up in a ball at his feet, "Your virtual missions are going to be to kill the Killjoys. And once you prove you can do it in the internet, you'll do it in real life."

I could barely get my words out; I was tripping and stuttering over my sentences. "The ki-killjoys? They're murderers. I ca-can't kill them; I don't even, I don't know how! Please, just chose someone else, let me go, please, please."

"Nope." Cherri said promptly. "And I know how to kill killjoys, I've programmed all of the internet missions. I know everything you'll need to know about zonerats. After all," he said, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the door across from us, "I was one myself."

Mcrmcrmcr

Welll I hope you liked that chapter. Background info. Next chapter is where the killjoys come in and we get a deeper look into Korse's evil plan… and a lot of other shit happens. So review, PLEASE. It's really what keeps me going.


	5. Chapter 5: Vampires will never hurt you

Ahhh. I'm so glad we're all done with those flashbacks. Now we've got pure, uninterrupted story. I wrote this while waiting in line for the Harry Potter movie at midnight. And I have 6 pages written for a chapter that will come later, and tomorrow I'll be on a plane for 4 hours and I'll get more writing done then. Sorry for that long space of time where I didn't update, I've a had a lot of shit going down in my life but the drama is coming to a close. Enjoy!

I hesitated to answer the exterminator's question. How I became a BL/I agent was a long story involving illegal acts, theft, violence… how could I successfully turn the story into something beneficial towards me?

But wait. It didn't need to be beneficial towards me. If I could put the director down it would be a disadvantage to her obvious plan of removing the mission squad- A.K.A. Cherri and I- all together. If I put her at a disadvantage I would look better in Korse's eyes.

I could twist the story in my favor.

I smiled towards Korse. "I believe I was chosen for my skills in self defense, short range attacks, shooting and stamina. But you would have to ask the director to be certain," I nodded towards her, "As she was the one who chose me."

I suddenly felt less obnoxious in my absurdly colorful clothes, as even my bright pink motor jacket could not compare to the rising flush in the director's cheeks. I folded my hands and looked down, waiting for the next question.

"Is that true?" Korse asked, and I could hear his chair swivel slightly as he turned towards the director. "I was under the impression that the commander had chosen his agent, as he created the internet program."

"Exterminator, I… I had no idea that this agent would be so incompatible with the chosen system, I-"

"Director." Korse lengthened the title, almost impatiently, "That is why the commander ought to have chosen the agent. Were you," he turned to Cherri, "Commander, informed by the director that you had free will over choosing your operative?"

"No, Exterminator, I was not." Said Cherri in a monotone voice.

"Director, you are excused from this meeting, please go to your given station. I will meet you there." Korse announced, and it took everything in me not to pop my mouth open. It was that easy? Had we bought more time?

The director nodded, stood up, and left the room clicking her heels across the off-white floor. I looked up at Cherri, who appeared to become much less tense, the look of someone after exhaling in relief. He thought we were safe.

I begged to differ.

It was so very unlike the director to walk off so obediently. Hadn't she just been stuttering to Korse, stammering in rage and fear? Yet she walked off so composed. So calm and collected, it was as if her steps were nearly measured. And what on earth was this station they were supposed to meet up at?

The very moment the door closed Korse turned his head directly to me. His friendly demeanor had entirely disappeared and his piercing eyes bored into mine. Suddenly it felt as if we were the only two people in the room, Cherri remained completely silent. As for the dracs… wait, what was their purpose here?

Korse sighed and lifted the corners of his mouth into a lazy but hard, all knowing smile. "Commander." He barked, and Cherri nearly jumped. "I demand that you stay silent for the rest of this meeting."

The pit of my stomach squirmed as if my insides were suddenly choking me. Cherri looked shell shocked, his mouth nearly opening before Korse raised a finger to hush him, turning his head to look at me.

"You're more intelligent then I had bargained for." He said, getting up and turning his back to me. "I can see you trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together. Some things, as you have observed, do not make much sense in a world run on blatant logic."

He turned suddenly and smiled slowly at my widened eyes. He walked back towards the table and leaned on to it, gripping the edge of the metal. "So, Stagger Shock," he said the name sarcastically. "What do you see?"

I blinked several times. Wasn't he looking at the same things I was, the same people? It dawned on me then that he wanted me to explain what I saw, what I had put together. What he had seen me calculate from the beginning.

"Your draculoids." I whispered. "Why are their masks off?"

"Because I told them to take their masks off." Korse answered promptly. "But I don't want you to ask any more questions. What do you see?"

I nodded. "You made them take off their masks so I could see their scars. Different scars, different surgeries call for different behavioral patterns. Moving their fingers, twitching… Mind control."

Korse chuckled darkly and moved his chair away from the table and sat down, still laughing. "Mind control. That's a bit extreme, don't you think? No, we block off different aspects of brain activity. It makes them appear… how to say it… soulless? Perhaps that's too harsh of a word…" he trailed off.

"You take away their free will." I whispered.

"Yes, that's the general idea." Korse said, leaning back in his chair.

"Where did the director go?" I blurted out, and Korse leaned forward with a glare.

"Do not ask me questions, rat." He spat. "You have no authority here. You came in expecting to be treated as an equal? As if you were important?"

"Rat?" I nearly shouted, turning wildly to Cherri for the first time, who looked absolutely petrified. "No, no. I'm no… I'm no zone rat. I'm not a killjoy, I've been training to exterminate them…"

"You!" Korse pointed to a draculoid who looked up obediently. "Take the commander out of the room. I want you both in battle uniform. And make sure that he does not escape."

The drac stood and I turned my eyes away, it would be too unbearable to watch Cherri be dragged off right in front of me.

As soon as the sound of footsteps disappeared I looked up to find Korse slowly turning to me, but before he could say anything I continued with my pleas. "I'm on your side, BL/I, I am, I swear-"

"And you would have proven to be a fine attribute to Better Living Industries had you succeeded in the missions!" Korse cut me off, his voice exasperated and sharp. He had stood up again, placing his palms face down on the table as he said in a lower voice, "But now, now that you have proved to be incompetent, you are of no use. You might as well be one of them." He jerked his head towards the dracs, still looking as lifeless as they were when I had walked in. "Disposable. No, more so than that. Just look at you. Dressed up in those colors. You thought I requested you be dressed in color because you were ready to be sent out on a mission? No. It's because I'm going to treat you like what you are. "

It was my turn to stand up and slam my fist on the table. "You think this army of dracs could compare to me? Me, after half a year of training. You pointed it out yourself; I'm smart, smart enough to get myself out of a tricky situation, smarter than some half brain-dead soldier. These, " I gestured alongside the table, "These are disposable. I'm not. I can kill the killjoys, without a doubt. I can."

"You say you're smart? You may be smart, yes, but you are also extremely ignorant." He strolled over to my side of the table and I nearly backed into a wall in extreme terror as the chief exterminator prowled towards me as if I were prey. "You think I would trust a 15 year old girl on a mission that important? No, no… I had a greater purpose for you."

He was right in front of me now and I was shaking, I wished with all my heart I could stop and remain still, remain strong, but I simply couldn't. It only took a simple push from Korse for me to fall back into my seat.

"Weak." He snarled. "You could have been important. Your data chips, the ones that collect your inner internet experience? Don't look at me like that, rat." He said as I looked bewildered, "Your dear commander may have designed and built the program, he knew the killjoys, he knew their habits, how they would act. But I am the one who thought of it, who had the plan. Once you could find a way to correctly kill the killjoys you would have been taken out of the program and we would immediately extract that information. Inserted the data into every draculoid, every warrior fully equipped with the knowledge of how to kill. Not aimlessly fire or attack, but how to kill. However, you could not do it. You could not kill the zone runners. But you've spent the last six months learning how to act like them, how to attack and talk like them. Therefore you are a killjoy in my eyes."

"Then let me keep doing the program." I gasped, nearly hyperventilating. The pale grey of the walls and the furniture seemed to blend as I became increasingly dizzy; I had to grip my chair tightly. "I'll kill them. That's what I would do for BL/I, I know you would kill me, dissect my brain the moment I finish. But anything, anything to prove to you that I am NOT a zone runner."

Korse paused, staring at me and backing away. He suddenly smiled fondly. "I have always admired loyalty." he spoke slowly. "Yet the killjoys have proven to be too much of a problem. We cannot spare the time. Our scarecrow units are numbered, the same goes with the growing need for draculoids. There is a reason you had six months to complete the mission, and it is because it is today that the killjoys will die, whether you obtained the information about how to hunt them down or not."

"I… I'm killing the killjoys?" I stuttered.

Korse suddenly rushed over to me and slammed his fist on the table, inclining his neck so that he was nearly breathing into my ear. "You naïve fool. You think I will let you ruin what I have been planning for weeks?" he asked, spitting out his words. He pushed my chair and I toppled over. I was tempted to stand up, to run, but there was no escape, it was better to save my energy as I peered up at him.

"I have personally kidnapped a dear friend of the killjoys. A very innocent little girl. That's where the killjoys are incapacitated. They have this completely warped idea of justice. They believe that it exists. And because of that they will come to us and we will take them as our own."

"You're not going to kill them?" I whispered.

"Because you happen to be an insufferable failure, no we will not kill them. We will probe them for information." Korse said dryly.

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked.

"Because." Said Korse. "It will haunt you for the rest of your newly torturous existence.

Suddenly a buzzer rang, louder than any noise I had ever heard. It leaked through the sound proof doors accompanied with sirens. Korse knit his eyebrows, looking towards the door with a puzzling look before his eyes flashed a diabolical expression of retribution.

"The killjoys are here."


End file.
